He's not expecting the attack, and it's that more than anything which drives his back against the doorjamb with a thump that resonates in his belly. Beside them, the door clicks to, and after a moment, Doctor Unthank starts to laugh. He is impressed. Desperate, jagged Johnny Truant, a head shorter than him if he's an inch, and here he is snarling up at him like a rat terrier. What fun.

Presently, he swallows back his laughter, tipping his chin down to look at the boy as if he were a student he was particularly disappointed by. 'Tch, come now,' he murmurs, rolling his shoulders against the wall, 'there's no need for violence.'

Casually, he brings a hand up to hover over Johnny's throat, tipping his own head to the side to study the shadow it casts, before catching-- hooking his thumb up under the hinge of Johnny's jaw, no longer casual at all but quite, quite purposeful.

'Now, didn't I say I'd get you out?' His voice and face are still mild, and he forcefully turns Johnny's head to look. The room they're in is not simply ordinary, it's downright welcoming. Everything about it seems warm, somehow, from the beautifully polished wainscoting to the luxuriant fabric to the lazy sunlight picking dust motes out of the air. He smiles, only a little sardonic, and lets go his hand.

'I like to think I'm a man of my word.'